Blissful Abyss
by Allison Jakes
Summary: Vaughn/Alice. Alice POV: What I'm not.


**TITLE: Blissful Abyss**

**AUTHOR: Ambrose Chavez  
EMAIL/FEEDBACK: agent47AChavez@hotmail.com  
DISTRIBUTION: Feel free to archive this work as long as you notify me of its location so I can visit the site!  
DISCLAIMER: ALIAS is the property of ABC, Touchtone Pictures, Bad Robot Productions, and is the creation of JJ Abrams. Sadly, I have no part in it.  
SUMMARY: Alice POV.  Losing Vaughn.  
RATING: PG-13  
CLASSIFICATION: angst**

**RELATIONSHIPS: Vaughn/Alice  
AUTHOR'S NOTE: unbeta'ed and short!  You can figure it all out as you go.  Enjoy.**

*********

You'd think after a while, you'd just learn.

But it doesn't happen, and you worry that it'll never happen… and you look at yourself in the mirror, examine the red-rimmed eyes, the crinkle between your brows and the thin, and the chapped lips you find yourself licking at the moment.

You just know.  It's never going to happen.

So you watch yourself as you mechanically brush your teeth, brush your hair and get dressed.  It's another day at the office, another day when you know… there's something inevitable lurking around the corner.  It's in the way he looks off into the distance, seemingly longing for something more.

Something you can't provide.

But you laugh, you smile, and you pretend.  In much the same way he does – pretend it's all going to be alright, there's not a worry in the world… and yes, you'll always be together.  There aren't superheroes, there aren't miracle-workers, and certainly no magic spell can ever bring him back to you.

As you catch a glimpse of the reflection of his naked back, you turn and face him.  He lies on his side, facing away from the doorway you stand in, and you rest your shoulder on the doorframe.  You cross your arms and debate between waking him up and just leaving.

You love him.  You think.  Maybe.

There was a time when you were close.  Closer than what you have been lately.  So you take a step in his direction, wanting to reach out and touch his soul.  He hides and shirks his soul in so many ways, you can't even begin to piece together the man beneath the suit.  Every time you think you're thisclose to figuring him out, he suddenly goes blank.  Shutdown.

He locks his emotions in, but you're trying so damn hard.  You know you could make him love you if only he opened himself up to you.  So you hold onto him, wrap your arms around his waist and just pray that he takes his hands out of his dammed pockets and hugs you back.

But he doesn't.  He just stands there, rigid as a board, staring over your head into the sunset and longing again… for that something you can't give.

You stand over him now, and watch the morning light spill over his muscled biceps and his tanned chest.  His hair is a golden halo rumpled, the rise and fall of his chest rhythmic.  You watch as his abdomen contracts and you see the faint lines of his six-pack.  A smile tugs at the corners of your lips and you remember the first time you saw them.  You made some kind of stupid joke about them, and he frowned at you because he thought that you were making fun of him.

But you made it up to him that night.  You proved his abs were perfect and that other forms of exercise could strengthen them.  After, he held you close, breathed into your hair and fell asleep with his arm draped over your waist and tucked under your hip.

But last night… he didn't hold you close, and he didn't kiss your temple like he usually does after lovemaking.  Instead, he absently turned over and promptly fell asleep.  He didn't even whisper a goodnight or any kind of endearment.  Maybe he has a lot on his mind.  You lied in bed and tried to figure him out again.  Perhaps something at work got him overstressed.  Maybe he's got some side problem he doesn't want to tell you about.

You want to comfort him, and you figure, hell, you've been together nearly a year.  He should tell you what's going on.  But he doesn't speak when you ask, and you have to prop yourself up on one shoulder and peer at him in the darkness.  His eyes are closed, but you don't think he's asleep.  He's just avoiding whatever it is he isn't telling you about, or maybe he's avoiding telling you what's bothering him.

So you wrapped your arms around his waist and leaned into his back, offering silent comfort and support.  But he turns over quickly, and you find yourself facing his shoulder.  Still, you leave your hand pressed against the small of his back, and you kiss his shoulder.  You ignore the tears in your eyes and pray that you're not the source of his internal battle.

But inside… god, inside, you know it's you.

And now, here you are, leaning over him, watching him sleep.  You touch his shoulder lightly.  You just have to wake him up and tell him you'll see him tonight when he gets back from work.  He barely stirs, so you run your fingers through his hair twice until he finally flips onto his back, and you let your smile linger a little longer.  The tears blurring your view don't seem to matter now.  You only know that you've had his affection, but you'll never have his whole heart.

So you press a kiss to your palm and place it on his heart.  You wait until you can swear his heartbeat is attuned to the beat of yours, and then you kiss his lips once.  He groans a little and turns aside.  You blink and a tear falls and lands in the center of his chest.  Brushing it aside, you tell him you'll see him tonight and then you turn to leave.

When you reach the doorway, you finally figure out what's so wrong with you.

"Sydney?"

You aren't her.


End file.
